It had been two weeks since Rush first stepped foot in Life Station. The fleet was now several jumps away from the nebula that most were certain had caused the majority of female humanity to act like teenagers just set free from the reign of their parents.
Laura Roslin was sitting in Bill Adama's quarters and reflecting on the past two weeks. It was now several hours past the time they were supposed to meet for their usual lunch time meeting. Unlike times past, their meetings now only had the vaguest of agendas, as opposed to the very specific and only-when-necessary meetings they had held after they first met.
Though, ever since the day after Cottle had told them all about the "Current Situation" as everyone was calling it, they'd seen very little of one another. He'd called her to cancel their appointment that next day after the press release had gone out. Bill had explained the very real need for him to fly CAP since so many people were not able to perform their jobs. There were fewer female pilots than male, of course, but those female pilots frequently chose male pilots to be their "helpers" and Admiral William Adama could certainly not begrudge them their choice, even if it made inconveniences for him.
Laura considered Bill a friend now and arranged to spend as much time as seemed reasonable in his quarters, which by causes of disaster and relativity were now deemed palatial. She knew he considered her to be his friend as well, particularly after a conversation they had had shortly after her cure.
"You're not angry with me, are you?" He had been staring at her for some time while they were supposed to be reading through reports in his quarters.
She looked up at him and took off her glasses. "What for?" she asked.
He cringed inwardly. Her question was certainly a legitimate one, considering the amount of causes for anger to which she was entitled. He stood up and walked to the drink cart.
"I was the one who gave the order. Cottle didn't want it done, but I gave the order. I knew you would probably not approve, but I did it anyway." He was, of course, referring to giving Baltar the go ahead with the half-human, half-cylon stem cell infusion that was the direct cause of her current presence in his quarters.
He was well aware of all the things he might be admitting to her if she chose to interpret his words. They were things he would not have admitted to himself if he were given time for reflection. He had not noticed that she had gotten up to stand behind him. She was like a cat, he thought, as she placed her hand on his sleeve.
"Bill," she intoned softly. He turned to look at her, his eyes unguardedly and uncharacteristically conveying the weight of her unknown answer. She slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. The relief he felt as he wrapped his arms around her back was equaled by the pleasure he felt at being able to hold her close after being on the edge of losing her for so long. For one brief, precious moment, be buried his face in her shoulder and neck.
"Thank you, Bill. Thank you for saving my life." Her voice was barely there, her tears and emotion drowning her usually steady voice. She pulled away slightly to give him a kiss on his forehead. Due to their only slightly differing heights, it ended up on his eyebrow. He opened his eyes after a moment and he still held her lightly in the circle of his arms. Her hands were still on his shoulders.
"We're even now?" he asked with a smile, referring to the fact that she had saved his life by convincing him to run rather than fight.
"Oh, no," she laughed, wiping away a tear. "We're even for saving one another, but you still owe me for saving everyone else's lives and for throwing me in the brig."
His face stormed over at this unwelcome reminder of his folly. She laughed and wrapped herself around him again. He welcomed her with his arms.
"No, no! I'm sorry, I was just teasing. We're even. You've saved us all, many times." She kissed him again, this time lightly on his lips. He gave her a watery smile, trying to ignore the heavy weight of emptiness he felt as she pulled away from him completely. They went back to their reports, the sense of friendship and intimacy settling comfortably in their bones.
She smiled fondly at the memory. It was one of the very few times they'd taken off the suits of armor they called professionalism. When she was in the mood to admit such things to herself, she regretted that it couldn't happen more often.
Bill had called her to say that he would be late again. The CAP were doing training exercises, and while there were certainly no particular rules that stood at the end of the worlds, Bill always tried to be in CIC to help guide the exercises. She usually listened to the pilots' chatter when she was in Bill's quarters, but she was trying to concentrate on a particularly technical report she'd received from Captain Tarney, so she was surprised when the hatch clanged open and Bill stepped through. He glanced at her briefly, enough to let her know that he was slightly surprised to see her, gave her a nod in greeting, then walked immediately to the drink cart.
Laura furrowed her brows at this strange greeting. She had noticed that he had been particularly distant these past few weeks and she knew that he had been trying very hard to get them away from the nebula that first week. She presumed that he still felt guilty about staying so long to search for Starbuck and was determined not to make the same mistakes again. She'd heard that he'd ridden the Chief's team particularly hard to get the FTL repairs done quickly. He'd flown CAP more often than anyone as so many were recovering from their 'affliction' as she fondly thought of it.
There were now very few people remaining who had any bit of 'affliction' left: lone holdouts who were stubbornly hoping the urges would 'just go away.' But, overall, it had been a rousing couple of weeks. Good humor, the spirit of camaraderie, and helpfulness abounded. Tensions were understandably low and Laura guessed that in a few weeks' time, there would be many announcements of babies on the way. It had turned out that almost eighty-five percent of the women in the fleet were affected and only one percent of the men. The poor men were teased somewhat at contracting what was thought to be a primarily female problem, but, as Cottle said, there was no shortage of willing partners, so ill will was not lingering. She also suspected that there were a few women who may have entirely made up their urges for a few days off and time in bed with a willing partner. She could hardly blame them.
Baltar had never proven conclusively that the nebula was to blame, but it was generally accepted as the cause. He had taken her lack of true concern for the causative factor quite to heart, giving her a ham-handed, semi-scientific report about three types of radiation not equaling the amount of energy the nebula was emitting. He concluded that there must have been an additional type of radiation for which they could not scan. She placed little stock in the report and was especially unconcerned since no one was hurt (well, she had heard some rumors about interesting bed play and its results coming from Life Station) and everything and everyone was slowly settling back to normal. She had no faith in any of Baltar's abilities after her dying visions, anyway.
She politely chose to ignore Bill's rather rude greeting, and began talking to him without preamble, as was their usual style now.
"Bill, I was wondering what you thought about an idea I've had."
He continued to keep his back to her but made a noise that may have been encouragement to proceed. She took it as such.
"I've been thinking about starting a meeting for the ships' captains. They could meet weekly and then appoint someone to bring me the most pressing issues. They're calling me all the time now and they usually have the same concerns, so I'm thinking that it would save me a lot of time."
Bill continued to stay at the drink cart. Laura made a face behind has back, wondering what could possibly be taking so damn long.
"The only thing is that you might have to go to at least the first meeting, since you are captain of the Galactica. I would try to get you out of the other ones, but I wanted to run it by you first."
She then heard the distinctive clinking of a very shaky hand placing a glass stopper back into a glass decanter. He couldn't be that upset about a damned ships' captains meeting. She stood up immediately at the noise and walked quickly over to him. Something was wrong, and she was blathering on. She placed her hand on his arm.
"Bill, what is it? What's wrong?" No answer. "Did something happen during the training exercises?" It was a sad fact that sometimes pilots died during training. She had heard it happen before while listening to the chatter. Since she hadn't been listening today, she would have had no way of knowing.
He looked at her concerned face and answered, "No, everyone is fine." As soon as he turned his face to her, her brow had furrowed and she knew something was wrong. He had a fine sheen of sweat all over his face and he looked gray. He was breathing heavily. His arm trembled terribly under her hand and she was instantly afraid for him. Her alarm was evident in her voice when she said, "Bill! What is going on? You look awful! Are you sick?" She placed her hand on his forehead to feel for a fever; he flinched and pulled away from her hand. Her arm fell to her side and she was surprisingly hurt by his rejection of her touch. But as she looked at his panicked face, everything clicked in her mind: his reaction, or lack thereof, during their initial meeting with Cottle, his avoidance of her these past few weeks, and his dogged determination to get them away from that nebula all pointed to one thing.
"Oh, Bill. Not you, too!" She was trying valiantly not to laugh or smile and was succeeding admirably. She was so relieved at his well being she could have cried. "Why haven't you-"
"I'm not discussing this," he interrupted her while trying not to shout. He was pointing to the hatch and saying, "I need some time. We'll meet tomorrow."
She stared at him. He was being so characteristically stubborn. But as she thought more, she was reminded of how grateful she had been that she had remained unaffected. After all, she was not simply a civilian who could pick a random partner to help her through a few days in bed. He had the same problem. He had no one to whom he could turn for help. While his back was to her once more, she walked slowly out of his quarters.
He gave a massive sigh of relief and let the trembling that he had been so carefully holding in check take over his body. He could barely make it over to the couch. These two weeks had taken an enormous toll on his body and mind. He was building up the energy to stand up and go for the head when he heard the hatch clang shut. His head snapped up to look and he saw Laura spinning the lock. She turned to him and fixed him with a resolved, but kind, glare. Countless commands ran through his mind: you need to leave; get out; pretty please leave, but his mouth formed no words and she was now walking toward him while taking off her jacket.
"I've told the Marines no interruptions." His hands clenched into his thighs, which was a difficult task in itself, considering how badly they were shaking. As she came to stand before him, no force in heaven or hell could have prevented him from looking up at her, just as no force could have prevented him from getting instantly and completely hard at her next words:
"I think you should take my shirt off, Bill."